The Vendetta Factor
by thelastOpenDoor
Summary: Darrel Curtis Senior wasn't the man the gang remembered, and his death was no accident. Now that the murderer is back on the town, Pony and the boys find themselves spiraling into a past they never thought existed. Post book, omniscient POV.
1. Chapter 1

_Prologue..._

A white, 1953 Corvette pulled into the Tulsa Corrections Department at exactly 10:23 in the morning. The driver, a pencil thin platinum blonde, took one last drag from her cigarette and dropped it in the ash tray. Sighing, she slid out of the car, adjusted her sunglasses, and walked inside.

A man in a grey suit behind the desk stood when she approached. "Can I help you?"

"Yes. I'm looking for an A. Montresor."

His brows furrowed, and the policemen behind him shared a glance. "Montresor? Why would you want to see _him_?"

"I have a message for him."

"Well, Ma'am, visiting hours don't start 'til noon --"

She pulled a ten dollar bill from her purse. "It's very urgent."

The man in grey's eyes widened. "Uh, erm. . ." he brushed off his suit, looking flustered. He cleared his throat, "Uh, Travis, why don't you take this young lady to see Montresor?"

The officer on the right nodded. "Yes, Sir. Right this way, Ma'am." He lead her through a beat up door, then on through a series of snaking hallways. Rattling bars, gruff shouts and catcalls followed them, but she ignored them as best she could, her shaded eyes locked on the officer's back.

After a while, they stopped in front of a cell a little further off from the others. The high, barred window let in a single shaft of light, just enough to see the shadow of a man curled in the far corner.

"You got a visitor, Montresor." Travis called, banging on the bars. The form in the dark flinched.

The woman smiled beautifully at Travis, taking several steps closer. "Thank you, sir." she ran her hands along his uniform, eyes beneath the glasses fluttering. "You've been such a great help." Her fingers found his pocket, and she slipped the ten dollars in.

He looked a little startled, but she could see the spark in his eyes, the spark that showed her plan had worked. He looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head, as if trying to remind himself he still had a job to do. "I -- uh, you're welcome." He backed away, leaning against the opposite wall.

The woman smiled tightly, then turned back to the cell. The dark form had moved closer to the door, but its features were still unintelligible.

A thick voice, rusty from lack of use, spoke from the shadows. "What's a fine white lady like you doing visiting me?"

He moved closer, the shaft of light striking his face. Shriveled dark eyes, aged from innumerable sleepless nights, stared out at her. His skin was as black as night, made even darker by sweat and prison grime. A pair of rusting handcuffs glinted around his wrists.

"I have a message for you." The woman pulled off her sunglasses, revealing piercing grey irises. Sylvia glanced over her shoulder at the officer, making sure he was far enough away that he wouldn't hear much, and knelt down to Montresor's level.

"A message? That wouldn't be from my wife, now, would it?"

"Sorry to disappoint. It's more of an offer."

He didn't say anything, but she could tell he was listening.

"You knew a Mr. Darrel Curtis?"

His eyes narrowed, handcuffs clinking as his fists clenched. "Of course I did. He's the reson why I'm here. I killed him."

She smiled. "I hoped you'd say that."

He stared for a moment, then nodded. "Your offer?"

"You hate the whole Curtis family, right?"

His teeth clicked together. "Yup."

"I do, too."

His brows puckered a little, but he didn't ask questions.

Quietly, Sylvia reached through the bars and clutched Montresor's hand, pressing the key she'd stolen from Travis' pocket into his palm. "Finish the job." she breathed.

A broad, yellow-toothed smile ripped across his face.


	2. Chapter 2

_Haunted . . ._

"YOU CHEATING LITTLE S-O-B!"

"I am not cheating!"

"Oh, now you're a _lying_, cheating S-O-B!"

"Like you're one to talk! Get that ace outta your shoe before I cut you with it!"

"Will you two shut up?! I'm trying to watch my show!"

"GET A JOB, TWO-BIT!"

I sighed, licking my thumb to turn the page. Just another typical, rowdy Saturday morning. Darry was so lucky he had to work today.

It had been about two months since everything happened. It was hard for everyone, but I don't know, maybe there's something wrong with me. I keep tripping over my own feet and forgetting things, and I've been more quiet than I usually am. Everyone's noticed. But I like to think I'm getting better.

I glanced up from _Jane Eyre_, gazing out the window. Sunlight streaked through, bathing the room in golden light. Outside, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the leaves of the neighbor's crabapple tree flashed in the breeze. A near perfect day. One of those days when Dad would take us all out to play football in the lot until sunset. Then Mom would be waiting at home with dinner, and we'd sit around the TV watching Mickey Mouse, laughing and just being a family.

But that was before…

"Hey, Ponyboy! Get your nose outta that book and come down here!"

_Ugh. _I grabbed an old piece of paper to keep his place, then tossed the book on my pillow. I'd come back to it soon.

Two-Bit looked up at me, mock surprise on his face. "Well, hello, stranger." he said, "What brings you to greaser territory?"

I rolled my eyes. "I live here, dolt."

"Really? Gorsh, I ain't seen you here before."

I made my way to the fridge, pulling out a Pepsi. "Whaddya need, Soda?"

He shot me one of his golden, heart-winning smiles. "Just to see my lovely kid brother for once."

I felt my face go red, and I hid an embarrassed smile behind my bottle. Soda was such a nut sometimes.

We all jumped as the sick-phonograph soundtrack of the Mickey Mouse cartoon switched to blaring white noise. "Aw, nuts!" Two-Bit shouted, reaching for the remote.

"Wait!" said Steve.

There was a flash on the screen, and then a news reporter appeared. "We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an important news message." he said, his face like stone.

"Stay here," Steve continued, "I wanna listen."

"Early this morning, a notorious serial killer escaped from the Tulsa Corrections Department."

Soda and Steve set down their cards, not caring who saw, as I took a seat on the arm of the couch. Everyone's eyes were locked on the screen as the face of a fierce looking man appeared. His eyes were nearly as black as his skin, aged with hate.

"Amandi Montresor, age twenty-six, has been locked away for the past year. Police say they have no idea how he could have gotten out -- he was in their highest-security cell. Yet at this moment, he's free to roam the streets. We urge the townsfolk to stay on your guard. Stay in groups, avoid wandering the streets at night, and --"

"Blah blah blah." Two-Bit shut off the broadcast with a careless wave of the remote. "We know the drill."

" 'Notorious serial killer', huh?" Soda rubbed his faint, stubbly beard. "Never heard of him."

"Probably means he's nothing we can't handle." Steve grunted, picking up his cards. "Hit me."

Mickey Mouse came back on, and Two-Bit was immediately enraptured. Steve and Soda went back to their game, like nothing happened.

But I still stared into my Pepsi bottle. I couldn't get those eyes out of my head. Amandi Montresor was _exactly_ the sort of person Tim Shepherd would grow up to be. The sort of person Dally would have bin. I knew those eyes had seen nothing in the world but hate for a long time. And it scared me that he had been driven to kill people "Notoriously" because of it.

"Hey, Pone."

I looked up at Soda. "You okay?"

"Yeah." I sighed. "I'm gonna go read some more."

-0-0-0-

"So, what'd you all do today?" Darry asked, flipping the batter over. We were having pancakes for dinner -- we couldn't think of anything else.

"The usual." Two-Bit sighed. He gripped his fork and knife eagerly, staring at the steam swirling up from the pan.

"I kicked Soda's ass in poker again today." Steve teased. Soda kicked him under the table.

"Watch your language," Darry chided half heartedly. I could tell he was really tired from work today. "How about you, Pony?"

I shrugged. "I finished my book."

He sighed. "You read too much, kid. You gotta hang with the guys more often, play some football or something."

"Not with a killer on the loose," I mumbled.

He dropped the spatula on the floor. "_What?_"

Oh, crap. There I go again, not using my brain. "Uh, the news today. There's --"

"Some crazy guy escaped from the Corrections Center today." Soda cut in for me. "We know the drill, he's got no reason to hate us. All's well. When're the pancakes gonna be done?"

Darry stared at him for a second, then sighed, picking up the spatula. "In a minute." I was expecting a big speech, but instead, he just looked at me. "You be careful, kid. God knows we don't need another accident."

On most nights I would have snapped back, but those eyes flashed in my head again.

"Yeah. Sure."

**Sorry for the long wait, and for the short chapter! I've had no time to write this, but I figured you guys needed something. **

**Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Since I didn't mention this earlier, I don't own the Outsiders or anything. They are the property of the almighty S. E. Hinton. **

**Also, as a brief warning: this chapter will probably be pretty gruesome and disturbing. Actually, a lot of the story will be from now on. Just so you know.**

* * *

_Follow You Home . . ._

Tammy Emery knew she shouldn't have been out this late. She looked around nervously, stuffing her cigarettes back into her purse. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to chase Scott away. He was a jerk, but at least he had a car.

It was darker than it usually was, even on the North side. She still had another five blocks or so to get home. She turned down the alleyway, her shortcut, hoping her parents were still asleep.

The hair on the back of her neck started to rise. She walked a little faster. Was there another set of footsteps behind her? No, it had to be the echo off the walls. Who would be out at this time of night?

Then she heard a subtle metallic _swish_. She whirled around to cuss out the loser following her, but there was no one there. Just darkness. Then it moved, and very faintly, she could see the shine of a knife.

"Oh, my --"

"Hush, now, little lady." A thick, raspy voice groaned from in front of her. The black shape kept getting closer and closer, until she was backed up against the wall, the blade pressing lightly against her neck. She trembled. "I just want to ask a few questions."

She felt her lips quivering. "I-I don't know anything."

"Oh, yes you do, Miss Emery." She could hear the smile in his voice, and his foul breath hit her like a slap to the face, making her knees buckle.

"How do you know my name?" she whispered.

"I know all about you, Tammy Emery. Sixteen, living on the nice side of town. Your parents own a restraunt downtown, you're dating Scott Cooper. You drive a green Mercedes-Benz --"

She was sobbing now. "What do you want?"

"-- and you go to Tulsa High School." he growled. She felt his thick fingers stroking her cheek, wiping the tears away. "You're in three classes with a one Ponyboy Curtis."

"I don't know him!" she cried, every nerve alive with the touch of the knife at her neck. "He's quiet, he just sits in the back, I --"

"Where does he live?"

"I don't know him, I don't --"

The knife pressed harder, and a line of pain burned through her skin. "Tammy," his voice was stronger, warning rather than teasing. "_Where. Does. He. Live_."

"The east side of town! He's in greaser territory!"

There was a pause. His body was closer to her now than ever, and she could feel every muscle, every inch of him. "Thank you," he hissed, "You've been a lovely," he kissed her hand in a sick gentlemanly way, "Lovely help."

Tammy thought he would let her go, but the knife was cutting deeper into her skin. "No…" fear bubbled up inside her, and she tried to wriggle away, but she was crushed against the wall. "No! I don't know him! I don't --"

Her pleas were cut off by his knife. Blood welled up and spilled over her neck, smearing on the wall as she fell limp to the ground.

Montresor knelt down beside her, kissed her softly on the forehead. They all looked so much more beautiful, dead.

_She_ had.

He shook the thought from his head, getting to his feet. He wiped the blood off on his pant leg and headed out of the alley.

East side. It was a start.

**Again, it's short, but I thought it was important.**

**Please review, constructive critisism is greatly appreciated!**


	4. Chapter 4

_I can't believe the news today . . ._

This morning's batch was almost too bitter, but it was still coffee. Darry gulped it down, trying not to grimace. It was quiet for once. Uncomfortably so. He cracked open a window, the robins providing quiet back round noise.

Sighing, Darry turned back to the clock on the wall. Almost eight. Soda would be up soon. He set his mug down on the counter and headed to the door for the paper.

The peaceful morning was immediately ruined. A huge picture of a bloody Soc girl's body sat deviously on the front page, its bolded headline screaming, _Killer Strikes Again!_

He picked it up and headed to the kitchen table, brow furrowing as he read the article.

_Last week, convicted murderer Amandi Montresor escaped from the Tulsa Corrections Department. And he hasn't wasted a moment of his seven days of freedom. On Wednesday, an unidentifiable body was found in the gutter, and last night, sources found his second victim: one Tamora Emery._

"_There's not a doubt in my mind it's Montresor," says Officer Dunham, local Sheriff, "We've seen it before."_

_Investigators interviewed the parents of Miss Emery. Her father claimed she had done nothing to provoke any kind of murder. Mrs. Emery refused to comment. _

"_If Montresor is behind this, there has to be a reason," Detective Hitchcock claims, "He always has a motive. These murders, they're just the first step. He's looking for someone. He won't stop until he gets his hands on whoever that someone is."_

_No news yet on Montresor's whereabouts. Police are searching everywhere, looking for leads. Anyone with any information should call their local police department immediately._

Darry threw down the paper with a sigh. Just the first step, huh? Seemed like this Montresor was turning up everywhere, and he apparently wasn't leaving any time soon.

"Morning, Dar." Soda stumbled from his bedroom, yawning big enough to turn his head inside out. "What's new in the world today?"

"Another murder." Darry stood up to get another cup of coffee.

"That black guy again?"

"Yeah."

"Who'd he kill this time?"

"Some Socy girl."

"Well, if he's going after Socs, he probably wants money or something. We got nothing to worry about."

"Don't you _dare_ say that."

Soda looked up, frowning at the venom in his voice. "What?"

"Just because she was a Soc doesn't mean we can just brush this off. He's a _serial killer_, Soda, he doesn't care who he kills. It could be any one of us next time."

"Don't _you_ dare say _that_." Soda crossed the room quickly, pointing an angry finger in his face. "We're falling apart as it is. You keep saying crap like that and Pony's gonna freak. That's the last thing he needs right now."

"You think I don't know that? I'm not all brawn and no brains, Sodapop."

"Oh, really? Sometimes I have to wonder."

Darry's fists clenched. "You little --"

"What's going on?"

They both looked up as Ponyboy quietly entered the kitchen, looking confused.

"Oh, hey, kiddo." Darry backed away from his brother, trying to look casual. "Didn't hear you come in."

Pony bit his lip. "Why were you fighting?"

"Fighting?" Soda threw in carelessly, walking to the fridge, avoiding eye contact. "Why do you say fighting?"

"I . . ." Pony sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Never mind."

-0-0-0-

"Mr. Curtis?"

Darry looked down from where he sat on the roof, nailing in boards. Mr. Stokes stood with his hand shielding his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Meet me in my office, please. I need to talk to you."

Darry frowned. Had he done something wrong? Carefully, he set down his hammer and climbed down the ladder, following Mr. Stokes into the building. "Whaddya need, Boss?" he asked when they made it to the office.

"Sit down, Darrel." Stokes waved at the chair in front of his desk.

Darry obeyed.

"You know, you're one of my best workers here. You work hard, you get the job done, and I respect you for that."

"Well, thanks, sir." He scrutinized his boss, wondering where this was going. Stokes looked nervous, distracted. About what?

"Have you ever thought about taking a vacation?"

Darry blinked. "Erm . . . What?"

"A vacation. I think you need one. I'm thinking of taking one myself, actually."

_Well, this was unexpected_. "Sir, you know my situation. I need this job, I can't just take a break."

"I'll pay your regular salary while you're gone."

"But my brothers . . . Pony's got school to worry about, and Soda needs his paycheck --"

"I can pay your brother, too."

"Sir!" Darry half laughed, "This is crazy. I don't need a vacation that badly."

"Well . . ." he was sweating now, fingers tapping the desk anxiously. "Don't you ever think it'd be nice to get out of the town?"

"Frequently, Boss. But I'm not financially ready to do that."

"I'm offering you a way out."

Darry sighed. "Why?"

Stokes' fingers froze for an instant, and he put on a fake smile. "You deserve it, kiddo."

_Liar. _He was hiding something, it was plain as day. "Let me talk to my brothers. I'll get back to you tomorrow."

Stokes still looked apprehensive, but he nodded.


	5. Chapter 5

**You know, I thought I was being **_**so**_** original with my title this time, and what do you know, a real published author is using the **_**exact same name **_**for his book. I just got painfully knocked off my little glory throne . . .**

**Sorry, I shouldn't babble. Thanks for the reviews, all of you, and I will be most pleased if you continue to review.**

**Warning! This chapter will be particularly frightening, and will contain some crude and racy slang. Just so you know.**

* * *

_Thoughtless . . ._

Roger Stokes scrambled to find his keys. It was already eleven. He'd stayed late tonight to finish up everything before he left town.

_Dammit, where are they? _He didn't have much time left. Two murders in a week? That negro was moving way too fast. He had to get out of here. He'd tried to help the Curtis boy, hadn't he? Now it was time to save himself.

Stokes threw open the top drawer for the third time, throwing papers everywhere in his mad search. He had to have overlooked them, he knew they were around --

_Footsteps._

Slow, faint, but footsteps nonetheless. _He was coming_. Stokes started to sweat. His head whipped around the room, looking for a way out. The window was too high to reach, and it hadn't been open in ages. The handle was rusted shut. If he could slip down the hallway, maybe he could make a run for it.

The door handle started to turn.

"Oh, Christ, no." He whispered.

"Good Evening, Roger," Montresor stepped easily into the room. He was taller than Stokes remembered, and the muscles beneath his dark, filthy skin seemed to ripple with every movement. He smiled woodenly.

Stokes was shaking too hard to say anything.

"Why so quiet, old man? Didn't you miss me?"

"Uh, erm . . ." he cleared his throat, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Montresor! Ha, f-fancy seeing you here, out and about."

"Surprise, surprise." He hadn't stopped walking, and that fake smile was still plastered to his face.

"I-I hope you know, old friend, I never had anything against you here! I mean, there's no hard feelings, right?"

Montresor's smile turned fierce. "Right." His hand shot out and gripped Stokes' throat. Laughing, he flung his old boss onto the desk, sending papers and pencils flying all over the room.

Stokes coughed, rubbing his neck as he tried to sit up. Montresor shoved him back down. "You ain't going anywhere."

"Please," Stokes begged, eyes wide, "Please, I didn't mean for it to go that far!"

"Oh, what's the matter?" Montresor pulled a knife from his back pocket. "Is Mr. Stokes _afraid_ of the little nigger?"

"It was Darrel! You remember Darrel, don't --" he broke off in a scream, the knife plunging through his hand and nailing it into the desk.

"You could have stopped it!" his breath reeked of tobacco and . . . _blood_. "You could have, but no. You just stood by and laughed with the rest of 'em. You had your share of the hollerin' and beatin'." He pulled out the knife, immediately driving it into his arm.

Stokes screamed again. "I didn't, I --"

"You _did_." Another stab. "Every --" stab, "single --" stab, "_day_!"

Stokes was sobbing now, blood making his suit stick to him.

He leaned into his old boss' face and grinned. "Don't you just _love_ repetition?"

"For the love of God, Montresor!"

The black man paused. "Yes," he murmured. "For the love of God." He jabbed the blade into the other's gut and yanked upward.

-0-0-0-

"Disgusting," Officer Dunham spat. Another camera bulb flashed behind him, making the pools of blood glow grotesquely for a second.

"Did you catch him?" Hitchcock asked, his gloved fingers tracing the knife wound in the body's upper arm.

"Would I be here if we did?"

"Always have to ask."

Dunham nodded. "Why him?"

"Montresor used to work for him. Probably cheated him out of his paycheck or something. He was black, it's likely."

"Hmm. So he bled to death?"

"Nope." Hitchcock grunted, rolling over the body. A huge gash stretched from nave to chops.

"Ah. Still, all this for being underpaid?"

"I know. It doesn't make sense." the detective fell into the chair, pulling off his gloves and rubbing his temples. "I'm missing something, I know it. Something obvious. It's staring me right in the face."

Dunham just shrugged. He knew better than to comment when Hitchcock was in his muse.

"That's the problem, isn't it? I'm looking right at it, but I'm so focused on everything else, I can't see it. Montresor's going to have to spell it out for me."

"Does that mean more murders?"

Hitchcock nodded solemnly. "A lot more."


	6. Chapter 6

_You know your End is near . . ._

"Are you scared yet?"

"No. Should I be?"

Two-Bit shrugged. "Just wondering how you were holding up, with Darry's boss getting killed and all."

I nodded. It had spooked me yesterday, when I first heard about it. But now that I'd had time to clear my head, I could talk about it without getting goose bumps.

"Are you?"

"Scared? Nah." He pulled out his lighter, flicking the flame on and off.

We were heading home from school. I still don't know why he came. He didn't do any of the work and he'd just get held back again next year. He didn't even have a backpack. I, on the other hand, was hauling half my weight in textbooks.

"Who do you think he's after?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I read it in the paper. The detective said he was after someone and that these murders didn't really mean anything."

"Oh. I dunno, kid. Probably some high school rivalry or somebody stole his girl." He frowned. "But he was black, wasn't he? Maybe somebody he worked with was a real racist asshole."

"So . . . Revenge?"

He shrugged. "Could be. Hell, maybe he's just bored."

"Hmm." We were quiet for a while. Two-Bit kept flicking his lighter, and after five minutes I turned to tell him to put it away before I burned him with it when I tripped over my shoe laces. I stumbled toward the shadowy alley, arms waving, and very nearly fell flat on my face.

I was expecting the pain, the scrapes on my hands, and Two-Bit's laughter. But I didn't expect the splash. It hadn't rained here in a few weeks.

I slowly sat myself up, my ears ringing as I watched blood drip down my arms.

Two-Bit stopped laughing almost immediately. "Pony, what --"

"It's not mine," I whispered.

I turned my head so slowly my neck creaked. In the alley it was dark, but there was enough light to see the mangled, bloody corpse slumped in the corner, the message scrawled on the wall in gleaming red ink:

_You're next, Curtis. _

"Mary, Mother of God," Two-Bit breathed, his eyes still on the body. "Are you scared now?"

I was shaking too hard to answer.

-0-0-0-

"Mm, Soda, how much for a engine repair?"

Sodapop frowned at the little brunette leaning over the counter. "Uh, didn't I just check out your car last week?"

She fluttered her eyes at him. "Maybe my engine broke again."

He cleared his throat. "Well, I --"

The phone rang.

"I'll get it!" he called to Steve. _Saved by the bell. How cliché. _He walked into the back room, trying to ignore the brunette's pouty face as he left. "DX, can I help you?"

"Is this Sodapop Curtis?" an important sounding voice asked.

"You got me." he laughed nervously. "Whaddya need?"

"This is Officer Matt Dunham. I'm here at the station with your little brother--"

"Oh, Glory." Soda fell against the wall, hand over his eyes. "What'd he get himself into?"

"No, he's not in trouble." Dunham assured. "At least, not in the way you think."

Soda felt his stomach leap up into his throat. "What's going on?"

A sigh. "It's . . . hard to explain. You better come down here. We've already notified your eldest brother."

"Alright. I'll be right there." He hung up the phone and tried to remember how to breathe.

"What's going on?" Steve wandered into the office.

"Ponyboy . . . Emergency . . . I gotta go."

Steve nodded and stepped away from the door. "Anything I can do?"

"I don't know." Soda reached for his keys. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Aw, Sodie!" the brunette whined, "Why can't you stay?"

Soda barely heard her, half running out to the truck.

Steve laughed darkly as the door swung shut. "Sorry, girlie. He's more into blondes."

**I'm sorry this chapter is really short, but it's something to tide you all over for now. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon, birthdays and homework aside.**

**Reviews boost my self esteem.**


	7. Chapter 7

_The only Verdict is Vengance . . ._

"Alright, what's going on here?" Darry had to duck a little to fit through the low door. The whole room was small. Maybe it was just because there were too many people crammed in here.

Leaning against a wall was an average height, average weight man in uniform, the words Officer Dunham on his badge catching the light when he breathed. In the corner was Two-Bit -- what was he doing here? -- reclining in an old wooden chair. He looked pretty calm, but even from over here Darry could see his fingers twitching over his cigarette pocket. There was a desk in the front of the room, behind which man with an aged face and stormy eyes looked calmly up at him.

"You must be Darrel Junior," he said.

Darry nodded.

Ponyboy was sitting in front of the desk, focusing on his shoes. Soda turned to face his older brother, his eyes scared and worried. Darry felt his heart miss a beat. The only other time

Soda had ever looked that way was when they heard about Mom and Dad. This was a lot worse than he'd thought.

"I'm Detective Walter Hitchcock," the grey-eyed man continued, "Please, sit."

Darry walked tentatively to his younger brothers. Pony didn't even look up. Darry wondered when he'd ever seen him like this.

That's when he noticed the blood. It drenched his entire front, splattered on his face, drying on his arms. He vacantly scratched some off his fingers.

"Jesus Christ, Ponyboy!" Darry took his brother's face in his hands, who's eyes looked startled, as though he'd just realized there was another person in the room with him.

"Darrel, if you would please take a seat," the man said again, "I'll explain everything."

Darry ignored him. "Who did this to you?"

"No one." Two-Bit stood, approaching them. "He fell."

Soda glared at him. "This isn't a joke, Keith."

"I ain't joking." He turned to the man. "Show them."

The man sighed, motioning to Dunham. The officer took a few steps from the wall and threw a manilla folder on the desk. Gruesome Polaroid pictures spilled out: A mutilated corpse, a hand with a ghastly, infected slash through the palm, rivers of blood, and . . .

"You're next, Curtis." Darry breathed.

"You'll have to forgive me," Hitchcock sighed, "I should have known Montresor was after you."

"You're sure it's Montresor?"

"Is there another insane serial killer on the loose that we don't know about?"

Darry's teeth clenched. He didn't like people acting like he was stupid. "Why is he after us?"

"It's the Vendetta factor."

Soda rolled his eyes. "A little elaboration would be nice."

Hitchcock sighed. "People like Amandi Montresor have sick views on life. Some people think criminals aren't brought to justice unless they and their whole family is put to death."

"but we never even heard of this guy until last week!" Soda exclaimed, "We didn't do anything to him!"

"_You_ didn't." Hitchcock said, "But your father did."

A stunned silence fell on them.

Two-Bit shook his head. "Mr. Curtis wasn't a criminal. We would have known."

"He was part of the Underground. I doubt even his wife knew what he was dealing."

"Dealing?" Darry's blood went cold. "You mean drugs?"

"Heroine. Acid. Cocaine. The works."

"You dirty little sleeze." Soda clenched his fists, trembling. "My dad wasn't a druggie!"

"I know it's hard for you to understand, gentlemen --"

"I know it's hard for you to understand that I'll --"

"Soda," Pony whispered, "Why else would he be after us?"

All eyes turned to him. Ponyboy brushed some more scabbed blood from his skin and pointed to the maimed body. "It's Tim Shepherd."

Now that he'd pointed it out, Darry could see it _was_ Tim. The sleek, muscular body frame, the blood-and-grease matted hair, the familiar scar on his face visible beneath the blood.

Soda was white, pressing the heels of his wrists into his forehead. Two-Bit ran a hand through his hair, muttering curses.

"How did this guy know my parents?"

The lines of Hitchcock's face seemed to deepen. "There's a lot you don't know about them."

**Reviews boost my self esteem. **


	8. Chapter 8

_Remembering you . . ._

Amandi Montresor glared at the city, one leg dangling off the edge of the roof. He and Rudo Ekenna used to come up here every day after school, all those years ago.

He flicked out his switchblade, flashing silver in the moonlight. He hadn't thought of ol' Rudy in a long time. He leaned back a little, the crisp September wind blowing his hair around. The memories started flooding back . . .

"_Yo, Monty!" _

"_Rudy." he clapped the younger boy on the shoulder._

"_What are we gonna do tonight, man?" Rudy seemed jumpy today, eager for some action. _

"_What, you think I plan every day out?" he scoffed, "I ain't got a plan, boy. I just go with the flow."_

"_Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's hunt some action."_

_He frowned. "Where?"_

_Rudy grinned. "You wanna go find that lovely white chick you've been wanting to see?"_

_He felt his eyes widen. "Boy, you crazy. You know as well as I do that Miss Molly belongs on the arm of --"_

"_Mr. High-and-Mighty Darrel Curtis." -- eye roll -- "You got just as much right to her as he does."_

"_Hello?" he cuffed him over the head. "Have you really been living on the South side for three years? I'm black! She's white! There's no way."_

"_Aw, come on! Don't you wanna try?"_

"_No."_

"_Damn, I would. That Molly McMarian has got some real --"_

"_Rudy."_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Shut up."_

Montresor bit his lip, trying vainly to stop himself from remembering. That was the last time he saw Rudy. Went 'hunting for action' with Curtis and his boys and got his brains blown out.

He laughed mirthlessly. What an idiot.

But even being an idiot, he shouldn't have died that way. Curtis had no right to take a life, no right to take away his only friend . . .

He gritted his teeth as the age-old hate began to bubble up again. _Save it,_ he told himself, _save it for Junior_. Sighing, he got to his feet. Cars meandered past in a lazy river of headlights below him. The city lay a little farther off, gilded in neon lights and twinkling signs. It looked so beautiful at night, shadows hiding the evil he knew lurked in every nook and cranny.

For the thousandth time, he damned the day he set eyes on Tulsa, Oklahoma.

**I'm sorry this one is UBER short, but you needed something. I'll probably put in a few chapters like this now and then, give a portrait of the murderer and all.**

**Reviews boost my self esteem.**


	9. Chapter 9

_These tears don't fall . . ._

Needless to say, Two-Bit was stunned.

He didn't remember _how_ he got back home, exactly, but suddenly he was there on his couch, watching Mickey Mouse. He was just a-whistlin' on his tugboat today. Good ol' Mickey. He seemed so careless, so happy. _And _he got a hot lady mouse. Why couldn't real life be as great? Hell, if _he_ were a cartoon, he'd never bomb another Geometry test. He'd never have to repeat another grade. He'd never be stuck in a crummy neighborhood with no money.

He'd never have to let another friend die.

Two-Bit sighed. What a day.

"Hey," Kimmy called, digging through the kitchen drawers for something or other.

"Hey."

"Why aren't you at the Curtis'?"

"Because."

Kimmy sat down next to him, using newly located scissors to cut the frays off her favorite shirt. Sometimes it surprised him how much she looked like Dad. Well, Dad didn't wear his hair in long braids, but his glittering caramel eyes and sharp features were apparent in Kimmy.

She frowned at him, throwing green frays to the floor. "D'you guys get in an argument or something?"

"Nah." Two-Bit ran a hand through his hair. "There's just some . . . Stuff going on. They need some time to themselves."

Her frown deepened. "But they're your friends. Shouldn't you be helping them with their problems?"

He glared half heartedly at her. "Maybe I want some time to myself, too."

Kimmy rolled her eyes, slapping his arm playfully. She didn't get up. Two-Bit didn't really mind. Staring mindlessly at Mickey and Minnie feeding eighth notes to a sheep basically counted as their brother-sister bonding time. Though he wasn't really paying attention to the cartoon. Or anything, really. It was a talent few could master, but today, he didn't have the energy to feel proud about it.

He couldn't believe it. Mr. Curtis, a drug dealer? There had to be some mistake. The man he knew couln't have been selling dope behind their backs. He was a great guy, the only real father Two-Bit had ever known. He was there to play football with, to joke with, to vent to.

Who'd want to murder a guy like Darrel Curtis Senior?

And Mrs. Curtis. She couldn't have been completely ignorant. Was she part of his little drug scheme, too? No. No, not Molly Curtis. She was golden and beautiful, too beautiful to let herself get wrapped up in drugs.

So why did she marry a man who was?

-0-0-0-

"Boy, why ain't you at the Curtis place?" Mrs. Matthews plopped her purse and keys onto the table and set about getting pots and pans.

"Well, Ma, I'm crushed." Two-Bit got up enough energy to pry himself from the couch, but by the time he got to the kitchen, he was spent and had to lean heavily against the doorframe. "I come home to see your lovely face and the first words outta your mouth are '_why are you here?_'"

"Aw, come on now. I'm genuinely curious."

"Curtis boys are having some issues," Kimmy called.

"S'that so?" Her motherly concern was so obvious it was almost disgusting.

"Thanks, Kimmy," Two-Bit rolled his eyes, "Yeah, they're having some problems."

"Well, aren't you a good friend, running away when you could help."

"Do you want me to leave?" He took a step toward the front door.

"No, no. You're here, you might as well stay. But you should drop by their house after dinner, make sure everything's alright . . ." she started muttering to herself. "I should make them a pie or something. Do they like pie? Maybe a cake. Or parfait. I haven't made parfait in --"

"Ma, they don't need parfait. What's for dinner?"

"Oh, I was gonna make some lasagna with that sauce you like so much. You and Kimmy go watch your cartoons. It'll take me probably until seven to . . ." she trailed off. "What're you doing?"

Two-Bit glanced up at her stunned face and realized he was getting the ingredients for the marinara sauce. He hadn't helped his mother cook in years. Hell, he hadn't helped his mother do _anything_ since . . . A really long time ago.

Kimmy had wandered in by now, eyes huge. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Open, close, like a fish out of water.

"Keith Jeremy Matthews," his mother said softly, "You tell me what's going on right now."

Two-Bit could only stare blankly at the onion in his hands. "I . . ." he dropped it in the sink, head falling into hands. "I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

And for the first time in twenty years, Two-Bit Matthews broke down and cried.


	10. Chapter 10

_Whispers in the Dark . . ._

I knew if I slept I'd dream, so I forced myself to stay awake. Which I guess is almost as bad, because no matter how may times I tried to blank my mind, the images from today kept flooding back. The shadows on the ceiling writhed and flickered around bloody dumpsters and broken bodies. The moonlight pouring through the window was tinted with red.

I shuddered. _Snap out of it. Nothing you can do now. _

Like _that _helped.

Tim Shepherd was the toughest guy I knew. I wouldn't be surprised if he ate nails for breakfast. Without milk. He was like Dally; cold, ruthless, uncaring. Nothing could touch him.

What kind of person could be cold enough to murder him?

The pictures Dunham gave us showed there wasn't any gunshot wounds. The only knife mark he had was the one on his hand, probably used to write the message. (Don't remember what it said. Don't remember the words. Blank your mind. Don't remember.)

Montresor had killed him with his bare hands.

Tim could take a lot. That scar on his face was a direct hit from an angry broad's broken bottle. Montresor had to be huge to strangle a guy like Tim. My stomach clenched. _Don't think about it, don't --_

I couldn't stop the thought.

_Now he's after me. _

My fingers tightened around the covers. I'd never been this scared before in my life, even with the dream. Because this time, I knew what was after me. Oh God, I need a cigarette. Darry'll kill me if I smoke in the house, but I gotta do something. I'm gonna explode.

"Ponyboy."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. "You're still awake?"

Soda rolled over to face me. "Did you honestly think I could sleep tonight?"

"You scared me."

"Sorry."

Moonlight drenched his face, showing off his perfect, marble-cut features. Even tired and worried, he looked so much like my mother.

I turned back to the shadowy ceiling. Who was my mother, really? She knew everything. She knew what my father did. Was she helping him the whole time? And my _father_. How could we not have known who they really were?

"They must've been lying to us," I whispered, "Mom and Dad, they couldn't be . . ."

Soda sighed. "I don't know, baby. I just don't know."

"That's the problem, isn't it? Nobody knows." I shivered. "We'll just have to sit here and wait to see what happens." I was suddenly reminded of that week in Windrixville with Johnny, living off baloney, Kools, and Gone With The Wind, waiting for Dally to find us. At least then we knew we were safe. At least then we could hold on to something, knew neither of us would get murdered by a psychopath in the night. But with Montresor, there was nothing to be sure of. I would never know when he was coming.

I clung to Soda, trying hard to keep the tears back, knowing he could be next.

**Okay, it's still Thursday, so I'm not a liar. Ha!**

**Reviews boost my self esteem.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you, loyal reviewers!**

**I haven't said so in a while, so: I own zilch. **

**Warning! This chapter will probably be pretty violent, and will have some crude and racy language (sorry), but please read it anyway so I'll know if it was intense or not. **

* * *

_Tourniquet . . ._

Sylvia Durang walked briskly through the streets of East side, her heels punctuating ever angry step. She didn't know if she'd find him tonight, but she had to try. This was going over the top. She had to do something. So she kept walking, eyes straight ahead, ignoring the crude calls of the occasional male passersby. She had a knife of her own, so she wasn't worried about those boys.

It was late. Streetlights bathed sidewalks and buildings in an ugly, painfully orange light. She couldn't believe Dallas used to spend so much time here.

_Dallas . . ._ She gritted her teeth and kept walking.

It wasn't long before she felt herself being followed. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck turned to needles, screaming warnings she paid no heed to. She turned into an alley, knowing he wouldn't want to be out in the open.

When she finally turned, all that was behind her were shadows. Shadows that stared at her with familiar, aged eyes.

"Well, well. I didn't expect to see you again, Miss." Montresor's silhouette bowed deeply.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He paused. "Exactly what you told me to do."

"No, you brainless fucking nigger," she hissed, "I told you to kill those stuck up greasers, not to jab a knife into everyone you meet."

Was he gagging? No. Laughter. He was laughing. "Oh, Miss, you have no idea." The shadows drew closer and she could just make out a yellowing, devilish grin. "It's all part of my plan. I'll let them watch everyone die, friends and strangers. They'll cower for days before they even see me."

"I told you," she pointed a manicured finger in his general direction, "To kill the Curtises. So stop fucking around and kill them!"

"Why do you care, anyway?"

"Because Dally was all I had! And he would rather hang around with _them_ instead of me. That's what killed him. If it weren't for them, he'd still be mine!"

He snorted. "Did you cheat?"

"'Course."

"Maybe that's why."

"It doesn't matter now anyway. Just kill the Curtises."

"I'm a serial killer, Miss. I can't just kill three people and be done."

"But they're innocent. You're hurting people who don't deserve it."

"Ah, yes," his voice grew softer, almost passionate. "But that's the beauty of it. They _do_ deserve it. I just don't know what for."

She backed away. "You're sick!"

"They don't call me a psychopath for nothing." The shadows moved closer.

"Get away from me!"

_Closer._

"I'm warning you!" she flipped out her knife.

A low laugh. "Do you honestly think you can control me?" There was a hand around her wrist, jerking it suddenly sideways. She gasped and dropped the knife. Then she was pressed between the shadows and the wall, a cool blade resting flat against her cheek.

"You wouldn't dare." she tried to sound brave. "My father will sue the shit outta you."

He sighed. She felt him shake his head. "As if I have anything else to lose."

She opened her mouth to scream, but there was no sound. Only excruciating pain as Montresor thrust the knife into the back of her throat. She felt the tip scrape the wall as she went limp, trying to breathe around the rivers of blood flowing into her lungs.

Montresor retrieved his blade with a hard yank and inspected his work. In the darkness he could see her body flailing, red pouring from her mouth as she groped for oxygen.

He grinned. _Picture perfect._


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry for the hideous wait! I'll try to get the next chapter up much sooner. **

**I own jack squat, but please enjoy anyway. **

* * *

_Stand in the Rain . . ._

Soda breathed in the familiar spicy scent of gasoline and motor oil, disappointed at how little it did to calm him down. His eyes stung with fiery sleepiness, but three cups of black coffee would keep anyone awake. At least for a few hours.

He sighed, fingers blackening as he adjusted the pistons on the '50 Chevy engine. What Pony had said kept him wide awake until dawn, thinking. He wasn't used to thinking. In fact, he did his best to avoid it. About important things, that is. He tried to ignore his problems. The bills? If he stayed focused on his job, they'd get paid. Sandy? It hurt like hell, sure, but there was nothing he could do. He just had to remind himself to forget about her on occasion.

But this was different. There are ways to pay off overdue bills. There are millions of blondes in the world. But this was their _lives_. And no matter how hard he tried to see a solution, he always came to the same thing Pony did: _We'll just have to sit here and wait to see what happens._

Sodapop Patrick Curtis was not a patient man.

"Hey, Soda." Steve appeared beside him.

Soda made a few final adjustments to the engine, then ducked out from under the hood of the moss-green car to face his friend. "Hey."

Steve took a swig from his pop bottle. "You look like shit."

"Oh, thank you. I couldn't give you higher praise, grease." He stole the bottle and downed the rest.

"How's Darry?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if his whole head is grey when we come home today."

"And Pony?"

Soda paused. "I don't really know for sure. He's scared, I know that. But hell," he laughed quietly, "I can never tell what goes on in that head. Especially now. It's like he's . . . somewhere else."

Steve nodded. He grabbed the empty bottle and rose up on his toes, lifting it over his head and hurling it. There was a crash as it landed in the waste bin in the corner. He grunted in satisfaction, then shoved his hands in his pockets.

"What is it?" Soda asked. He'd seen that look a million times before. For some reason, Steve acted like he needed permission to ask an important question.

The dark haired greaser clicked his tongue, rocking on his heels. Picking the right words, Soda knew. "Something still bothers me."

"Only something?"

"I mean . . . Hitchcock said that Montresor murdered your parents, right?"

Soda tried not to flinch at the name. "Yeah."

"Why didn't Darry know?"

"I was wondering that, too," Soda said after a while, "I talked to him this morning. He said Hitchcock misspoke. Mon . . . Montresor wasn't put away for murdering my parents. He was put away for murdering a bunch of other people. My parents died in a car accident."

"Are you sure?"

He bit his lip. "No. It doesn't sound right. But I'm really hoping it's true."

"I think we all are."

Soda smiled. "You going out with Evie tonight?"

"Yeah. She's getting worried. Needs to be distracted about as much as I do." He paused. "D'you want to come with us?"

"Nah." Soda kicked a pebble absently. "Darry'll throw a fit if I go out now. And . . . I don't know. I'm still kinda worried about Ponyboy."

"Okay." Steve glanced at the clock on the wall and swore. "I gotta get back inside. It's not really my lunch break and I'll never hear the end of it from Boss." He strode back inside.

Soda watched him go, sighing. He hated being alone with his thoughts.

He lifted the hood again. He knew there was nothing left to fix, but at the moment, there was nothing else to do.

**Reviews boost my self esteem.**


	13. Chapter 13

**I know it's incredibly short, but bare with me, it's just a filler. Next chapter will be a lot more interesting . . .**

* * *

_Waiting for the World to Fall . . ._

I really wished people would stop staring.

Word got out about Montresor's motive. It was all over the newspaper, how my father was a drug salesman, how my mother was his "Partner in Crime", and how they committed some unknown offense on Montresor's family.

I didn't believe a word of it, but this is high school. Any rumor is true until proven otherwise.

I sat alone at lunch, staring at my sandwich and wondering how my life suddenly got so messed up. I used to be a happy kid. We all were, before Mom and Dad died. The police told us it was a hit-and-run accident, they never found the man who hit them.

Could it have been Montresor?

Then again, he was black. Few Negroes would have cars. Even if they could afford it, no one would sell one to 'em. It very well could have been someone else.

So why in hell was he after _us_?

-0-0-0-

Soda came home looking exhausted. Black grease lines stretched all along his face from holding his head in his hands. A Greek god fallen face first into the dirt.

"Steve's going out with Evie tonight," he said.

"Take a shower," I replied.

He grunted and shuffled down the hall.

Darry showed up a few minutes later. I counted eight new strands of grey hair. I sighed. "Darry, quit getting old."

He looked startled. "What?"

"You're gonna need a cane before you reach forty. Quit getting old."

"Don't worry about me, Little Buddy. I'm fit as a fiddle."

"Maybe, but you're mind is worrying about a million different things at once. Come over here and relax for a minute, Dar, you really need it."

He sniffed, but didn't argue. He plopped down on the couch next to me with a grunt. "Anything good on?"

"_The Price Is Right_."

He shrugged.

Soda came out a little while later, looking much more like his old self. By the time Two-Bit showed up, _The Gong Show _was starting. It was just like old times. We were laughing so hard, I almost forgot about Montresor.

Almost.

In the back of my mind, I still wondered where he was now.

**Reviews boost my self esteem.**


	14. Chapter 14

_All that's left of who I am . . ._

Amandi Montresor sat cross legged in the street, staring into the bright windows of the Curtis household.

He'd been here since it got dark, plotting. Half of him wanted to snap every neck in there right now, but the other half held him back. A broken neck would be too easy. Too painless.

He counted how many of them were in there and grinned. There was the first step of the plan. Now he just needed the location, time, clues . . .

Oh, tonight would be so much _fun_!

But, in the midst of his careful planning, he found himself slipping back into the past . . .

Splat! _Tomato juice dribbled down his neck, followed immediately by deep, cruel laughter._

"_Hey, nigger!"_

_He looked up slowly. Darrel Curtis stood high and mighty on the roof of the newest house. "Didn't you warn that little shit not to mess with us?" he mocked, "Maybe then he'd still have his brains."_

_His fists clenched. "You had no right."_

_More laughter. "As if it matters."_

"_Rudy was just a kid!"_

"_A little nigger boy who needed to be taught a lesson."_

"_You're a monster!"_

"_You're a black man!"_

_He roared. "Come down here and fight me, you goddamn son of a whore!"_

_Curtis snarled. "Alright, Black Bastard," he threw down his hammer and slid down the ladder. Cracked his knuckles. "Let's go."_

_Then nothing was visible anymore. Only flashes of faces and dirt, grunts, shouts from the crowd. Fists, nails, teeth shredded skin both black and white. _

_"STOP!"_

_Curtis threw him off him. "Molly, get out of here!"_

_Molly McMarian didn't listen, running to where he had fallen. She offered a hand. Her pale skin seemed almost translucent compared to his. "I'm sorry," she said, "He has quite the temper."_

"_Molly!" Curtis shouted again._

_He stared at her hand. It was a crime for him to touch a white woman. But she was so beautiful . . ._

_He got to his feet on his own. "Thank you," he whispered._

_She nodded, though her blue-green eyes had turned sad._

"_Molly," Curtis said dangerously, "Get over here."_

_She looked at him one last time, then ran to her man._

"_Now you listen here, you little fucker," Darrel hissed, "If you even look at my girl again, I swear to God --"_

"_What, you'll kill me?" he spat._

"_No. But when I'm through with you, you'll be wishing I had killed you." Then he took Molly's shoulders and steered her away._

Montresor felt his fists clench. He could imagine the rest of that day from Curtis' point of view; walking Molly home, scolding her for getting in the way and nearly getting herself hurt, then rallying up his boys and setting fire to the Montresor household. Amandi had lost his little girl that day, and his wife hadn't spoken to him since.

He'd regretted killing Molly. She wasn't involved in any of it, only wanted to help. But it's hard to choose who lives and dies in a car accident, and Darrel needed to be punished.

Yet that wasn't enough. As long as the Curtis spawn still lived, he could never let go of his hate.

And tonight, that plan would finally come into action.

Montresor winced as the darkness was pierced by a pair of headlights. A Ford Thunderbird came screaming up the street, directly at him.

He stood up.

_CRASH! _The car jerked backwards, the entire front buckling inward. Tires squealed to a halt, bending metal groaned, broken glass rained down, the sharp edges glinting eerily in the headlights.

Montresor grunted. He'd probably get a bruise in the morning. He walked around to the driver's side.

It was a kid. He slumped over the steering wheel, blood dripping from beneath his light brown hair. Another kid stared blankly forward, and a third lay sprawled and broken on the asphalt, launched from the truck bed. He remembered the way Darrel and Molly had looked after the accident: him cut up and ghastly beside a golden, bloody beauty . . .

A dog started barking wildly, and Montresor cursed. Curious neighbors would come running soon.

He turned away from the wreckage. Now that he'd gotten himself warmed up for the next event, he started down the street.

Soon, very soon, all this would be over with.

**Enjoyable? Sorry about the profanity/racy language . . . it seemed unavoidable to me. **

**Reviews boost my self esteem. **


	15. Chapter 15

**Wishing I could hear your squeals when you see this, E. **

**I own zilch. **

* * *

_Intentions . . ._

"Steve!" Evie slapped him playfully on the arm. "You're such a jerk sometimes!"

Steve smirked. "I try."

It was close to midnight. Steve lounged behind the wheel of his Chevy Nova. It was a hunk of junk, sure, but it moved. They hadn't been into town for a long time, and it was nice to get out of the neighborhood.

Evie's house soon came into view. He crept up her driveway and cut off the engine as quietly as possible. They both hopped out.

"I had a great time tonight." she said, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. In the dim street light, her sea green eyes glittered, taking his breath away.

Steve didn't get many girls. They all walked around him and flew straight at Soda like flies to honey. It used to bug him. But it was at times like this when he thought Soda got the short end of the stick.

"I'm glad." he bent down to kiss her softly. Her soft, tiny frame seemed to fill a hole in his heart that he didn't normally notice as she pressed closer. It felt . . . Inexplicably _right_ to be around her.

Too soon, they broke apart. She smiled at him. "Good night."

"Good night." He squeezed her hand once, then turned and slid back into his piece-of-shit car. The sudden return of the headlights streaked her dark hair with silver, and she waved as he drove away.

Steve sighed, missing her already. He asked Soda once if this was what he felt like when he wasn't around Sandy.

He'd never gotten an answer.

There were often times when he wondered if Evie was his perfect girl. She certainly seemed like it. But how can you be sure with love? Did she really feel the same way? And what if he proposed and she ran off, like Sandy?

_As if you have the money to get a ring anyhow,_ he scolded himself, _let alone care for her. You're nothing but a greaser, and it's all you'll ever be. _

His house came into view and he slowed, ambling up to the driveway. Did he really want to go back? The old man would throw a fit for sure. Maybe he could spend the night at the Curtis'. . .

Nah. They had enough to worry about.

He parked relatively straight and got out. He could hear a breeze coming, rustling trees and garbage up the street in a hollow crescendo until it was roaring in his ears, chilling his greasy curls. He shivered. On most days, he wouldn't notice that. Yet tonight every sense seemed alive and alert, searching for danger.

Frowning, Steve shoved the keys into his pocket and trudged up the steps to the door.

It hung splintered on one hinge, groaning in the wind.

Stunned, he stepped carefully through the doorway, every nerve alive with fear. Inside, it was black and silent. No TV. No drunken snoring.

This was _bad. _

Steve stumbled through the darkness, searching for the light switch. He felt glass break beneath his feet, piercing in the silence. He finally found the switch, but it didn't do anything.

"Son of a --"

He froze. Did something move?

He squinted, willing his eyes to adjust to the shadows, but he couldn't make out anything.

Then heavy footsteps rushed over the broken glass and an enormous black shape came leaping at him. A blade embedded itself in his thigh and he cried out.

The shape was overwhelming, pinning him to the wall. The useless light switch stabbed into his back.

There was a deep laugh, a hideous wave of bad breath, a gleam of two dark, hate-filled eyes. "Funny," Montresor hissed, "I thought this would be harder."

**Reviews boost my self esteem.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Sorry for the hideously long wait! But this chapter is huge in comparison to previous ones, so hopefully that makes up for something.**

**Still own bupkis.**

* * *

_Burning on the Inside . . ._

Darry staggered down the hallway, half alive, every fiber in his body craving caffeine. Feeble streaks of sunlight filtered through the cloudy sky outside, possibly as tired as he was.

What a night.

He hadn't been sleeping well as it was. Who could, knowing their parents had been living a lie and now a crazed murderer was out to kill what was left of their family? And then there was that crash . . . He'd been in a weird, semi-conscious state, feeling like he was drowning and flying all at once, when the most horrible noise jolted him back into reality. He raced outside, Soda and Pony following, to see the totaled car in the street. A few other neighbors were already there, checking to make sure the kids in the accident were really dead.

He'd seen his brother's faces. Soda: stunned, confused, unbelieving. Pony: stiff with fear and cold realization. _What had they been thinking?_

The police came quickly, checked out the scene. Dunham told them it was a hit and run.

But Pony just shook his head and walked back inside.

Darry sighed, pouring coffee into a giant mug and collapsing into one of the kitchen chairs. A hit and run accident . . . He took a big swig of the bitter, dark elixir, remembering another night, nearly two years ago now . . .

"_When're Mom and Dad coming home?" Pony asked._

"_Soon," He assured him. He bit his lip, checking the clock. 9:52. They should have been back a half an hour ago. _

"_They better be." Soda set down his hand and took the kitty, much to Pony's chagrin. "Dad promised us a round of poker before bed."_

_He scribbled down the answer to number 12. He had a huge Calculus test tomorrow. Hopefully he'd be ready by then. "Pony, if they're not back in eight minutes, you're going to bed anyway."_

"_Aw, Dare!" -- pouty lower lip -- "That ain't fair!"_

"'_S fair enough," he replied, "Mom'd lay an egg if she knew I let you stay up this late."_

_Ponyboy opened his mouth to say something smart-alecky, but then there was a knock at the door. _

_They all stared at it. Mom and Dad wouldn't knock. Anyone in the gang, even at this time of night, would just walk in. Who would be here?_

"_I'll get it," Soda said, without his usual enthusiasm. He stood and walked to the door, hands twitching with nervousness. _

_A tall, gangly man in uniform stooped in the doorway. His arms were too long. "Are you Darrel Curtis, Junior?"_

"_N-no," Soda stuttered, eyes gleaming with fear. _

"_I am." He stood and walked behind his younger brother. "What can we do for you, officer?"_

_The tall man sighed, his gaunt face stretched into a droopy frown. "I'm sorry," he said in a deep, oily voice, "Your parents are dead."_

_They all sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then Soda, "Is this a joke?"_

_The tall man turned. "Young man, is this anything to joke about?"_

"_I don't believe this." Soda paced the room, fingers gripping his long, golden hair at the roots. "I don't believe this."_

"_They were on their way home. It was a hit and run accident." _

"_I won't believe it!" Soda shouted. He grabbed the edge of the table and threw it on its side, cards and coins flying. _

_Ponyboy was shaking, tears dripping from his pale green eyes. His face was sheet white, the way it looked when he'd sprained his wrist in football last year. "Dead?" he whispered, "Mom and Dad . . .?"_

"_I'm terribly sorry," the tall man went on, his basset hound eyes emotionless. "We have a lead on who hit them. We're doing all that we can."_

"_That isn't good enough!" Soda screamed, "You can't do anything!" He darted down the hallway and slammed his and Pony's bedroom door. _

_Ponyboy was trying hard to pull himself together, but he only cried harder. _

_He felt his legs trembling. A thousand thoughts were screaming through his mind, pelting his skull like hail. "This wasn't supposed to happen," he heard himself mumbling, "What about Pony? What about Soda? What . . .?"_

_He fell to his knees, head in hands._

_No . . ._

"Darry?"

He looked up. Soda paused in the doorway, in jeans and socks, a shirt thrown over his shoulder. He walked over to the fridge for some chocolate milk. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He took another gulp. "How'd you sleep?"

"That's a really stupid question."

"I'm trying to make conversation here. Work with me."

"Steve was supposed to be here by now." He chugged the milk, giving himself a brown mustache, then pulled his shirt over his head. "I'm gonna go run over to see what his deal is. Boss'll chew me out if I'm late again."

"Okay, well, see you tonight, then." Darry ran a hand through his hair.

"Hey." A pat on his shoulder. He looked up into a warm, half smile. "It'll work out."

He couldn't help but smile back. "I know. Say hi to Steve for me."

"Will do." The door creaked open, and Soda hopped down the porch steps and took off toward Steve's.

Darry stared into his coffee cup, half empty already. How could any of this work out, really? It's not like he could protect the gang from Montresor. He couldn't even protect himself.

He wished Dad were here. He needed someone he could talk to. Sure, Soda could help, but he couldn't know how desperate he was. And Pony . . . Pony was too young for all of this. First Mom and Dad, then Johnny and Dally, and now this. No fourteen-year-old should have to deal with this kind of life. He needed to finish school, get away from this god forsaken city and live a new life. Hell, he could change the world if he wanted to.

That is, if he lived long enough.

_No! Don't think like that. _But he knew every part of it was true.

He heard the door open and close, heard Ponyboy's soft footsteps heading up the hallway. He shook his head, putting on his brave face for his little brother.

"Morning, Dare." Pony shuffled into the room, looking small and ghostly. This was hitting him harder than he'd thought.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, and gave a small smile.

"What time are you gonna be home tonight?"

"Oh, I don't know. Six, six thirty, maybe?"

Pony nodded. "Okay." He got himself some chocolate milk as well, not bothering with a glass. He set down the jug and yawned.

Darry resisted the urge to bash his head on the table. Pony looked so . . . Different, lately. He didn't know why. And he knew he'd see the reason if he had a closer relationship with his youngest brother. But he and Ponyboy had never really gotten along, and this wasn't the first time he regretted that fact.

"Pony," he found himself saying.

"Yeah?"

"I, uh . . ." _What? I'm sorry? I'm here for you?_

He didn't have much time to think about it. Suddenly the door burst open and there stood Sodapop, chest heaving, eyes wild.

"Soda?" Pony walked over to him, reading his expression and tensing. "What's wrong?"

Soda stood gasping for a minute, fighting for words, gulping a few times. "Steve," was all that came out. Then he turned and tore back down the street.

Darry and Pony shared a brief look, then raced back after him.

**Reviews boost my self esteem. **


	17. Chapter 17

**WARNING: This is the most graphic chapter I've posted so far. NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH. **

**Still not mine. **

* * *

_All That Remains . . ._

Serious reality has a hard time coming through to Soda, but when it does, it hits him hard.

I'd never seen Soda so scared in my entire life. He looked like he wanted to rip off his skin and run and run, never looking back, so long as he was anywhere but here. That look had never been there before. It scared me.

I shot a glance at Darry as he ran out the door. His face was a stone mask, but I could see the terror boiling behind the ice wall of his eyes, threatening to spill over. Another look I wasn't used to. It made me wonder what my face looked like.

Without a word, he and I flew out the door after Soda.

It started to rain. Water struck my face and arms, cold and erratic. We turned sharply and almost ran into a car, who's driver honked and flipped us the bird. But then Steve's house came into view, sitting squat and smug, looking like it knew something we didn't. Soda darted ahead, and before I knew it, all three of us were standing on the porch.

The door lay thrown at our feet, splintered and blood smeared. The house was dark, gaping, challenging us.

Darry went in first. I started to go after him, then realized Soda wasn't with me and turned. He still stood staring, eyes wide and unbelieving.

"Hey," I said.

He blinked and jerked his head toward me.

I stuttered, "W-we're in this together." I put on my brave face and held out my hand.

He let out a breath I hadn't realized he was holding, a laugh bordering on hysterics, and took my wrist. I lead him inside.

Glass crunched beneath our feet. I heard Darry ahead flipping a switch, but nothing was happening. He swore under his breath and kept moving.

Soda let go of my wrist. He wouldn't go any further than the door. I figured I'd give him a minute or two to calm down and followed Darry further into the house. Thunder rumbled outside, and the rain came in torrents.

I'd hardly ever been to Steve's place, but I knew the overall layout of the house was the same as ours; decently sized living room, little kitchen with linoleum floors, small windows. Every house in the neighborhood was the same. But in the darkness, it was hard to tell. An overturned bookcase here, a splintered end table there threw off all familiarity. The fact that my eyes wouldn't adjust didn't help matters.

Of course, it didn't take long for me to trip over something. I was dumb enough to try to catch myself with my hand, and with all the broken glass on the floor, got a couple of splinters wedged into my wrist. I hissed, pain like fire racing up my arm.

"Oh, Jesus, Pony!" Darry was at my side in an instant. He scooped me up and set me on my feet much quicker than I would have liked, and my head spun. "Soda," he called, "Let's get out of here. Call the fuzz. We'll come back in --"

His sentence was cut off suddenly by an enormous clap of thunder that shook the whole house. Lightning lit up the room for the briefest of moments, but that was all it took to see everything.

There had been a fight, all through the house. Pools of dark blood stained the carpet and the couch. Fresher blood was smeared on the wall by the light switch, like someone had tried to get away. The glass flashed red.

What was left of Mr. Randle lay sprawled over the back of the couch. Blood and beer drenched his pale body, and a few drops of blood still dripped from the shredded bottom jaw attached to the neck.

What I had tripped over was the top of his head, flesh and muscle dangling around yellowed teeth.

It took all I had to keep from being sick.

Soda let out a high pitched moan and lurched out of the house, falling on his hands and knees outside.

Darry stiffened behind me, breathing shakily. "This. . ." he whispered, "This is enough."

Then he lifted me again and carried me back into the storm, coaxed Soda into following, and we headed back home.

-0-0-0-

Walter Hitchcock sighed, snapping his latex gloves into place. "Any leads?"

"Not yet," Dunham replied, "but there's gotta be something here."

"Hmm." Hitchcock gingerly picked up the bloody head by his feet, glass chiming softly. Tyler Randle's eyes bore into his, red and nebulous.

Dunham swore and turned away. "That thing is rancid."

"That thing is a clue. Look at this," Hitchcock had turned the head upside down. Four deep indents lay diagonal in the roof of Randle's mouth.

"Weird," Dunham whispered, then turned away for a breath of cleaner air.

Hitchcock placed his gloved fingers in the indents. "Montresor has big hands," he muttered.

"Are you saying a man ripped this guys head in half with his bare hands?"

"That's certainly what it looks like." He pointed to the bottom jaw, still on the neck, where four similar indents were just visible behind the blood soaked tongue.

"Mother of Mercy," Dunham laughed nervously, "Was this guy on steroids?"

"Maybe. I read his profile, though, and he's always been strong. Adrenaline probably helped, too."

"Detective!"

Hitchcock turned to face one of the new guys. He was pale and sweating, but he seemed to be holding up better than most of the others. "What?"

"A note." He held out a piece of paper with a pair of tweezers.

"Where was it?" Hitchcock set down the head and peeled off his gloves.

"In the china case. Plain view, but away from the blood."

Hitchcock nodded, unfolding the note. The lines on his face deepened as quickly read. After a moment, he sniffed and folded it in his pocket. "What's your name, kid?"

"Chase, sir."

"Well, Chase, good work. I'm putting you in charge for an hour." he turned for the door. "Officer Dunham, please come with me. We're going to have a chat with the Curtis boys."

**Reviews boost my self esteem.**


	18. Chapter 18

**What is_ this? _An_ update_****? My, my! I haven't seen one of these in **_**ages**_**!**

**Sorry for this wretched wait. So much other crap going on . . . Hope you enjoy this, though. **

**Hey, guess what? This whole story? It isn't mine. HA!**

* * *

_And if I Bleed . . ._

Soda's hands were shaking. He shoved a cancer stick between his lips, flicked his lighter, but the flame wouldn't stay. Now the cigarette was trembling, falling to the ground with the lighter. Hot tears spilled out over his eyes, unfamiliar and awkward.

Steve was dead.

Murdered.

_Destroyed_.

Soda closed his eyes, but he could still see the bloody walls, the glass shards twinkling behind his eyes. He heard his pulse in his ears, loud, crazy. _Why did he go for _him_, not me? Why Steve? Oh god, why?_

"Hey."

Soda jumped, whirling. "Jesus, Pony . . ."

Ponyboy leaned against the door frame, smiling sadly. "Darry just called the DX. Your boss is letting you use one of your Family Emergency days."

His whole right hand was wrapped in gauze, splotches of blood already seeping through. _This family emergency is gonna last more than a day, Boss._ "Oh. Okay."

Pony watched him for a moment, then stepped forward, pulling a Kool from his back pocket. He lit it, handed it over. "You look like shit."

"Watch your language." But he took it gratefully anyway. After a long drag, he realized he was laughing.

"What?" Pony asked.

"You," Soda shook his head, "How are you handling this better than me? I'm older, I'm supposed to be the stronger one. I'm . . ." His voice broke. He took another drag.

Pony didn't answer for a long time. He took a few steps forward, leaning against the porch fence, studying the identical houses on the streets. Soda thought his eyes looked distant, clouded over. It scared him. "Pony?"

Finally, his younger brother spoke. "He planned it this way. He knew how we'd react. It's all a game."

His brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Pony turned. His jaw was set, his eyes dark. "It's just a game, Sodapop, and Steve was just a pawn." He walked back inside.

"Ponyboy --" Soda started after him, then paused. Two familiar men were walking up the street.

He frowned, then found Darry in the kitchen. "The fuzz are here."

Darry closed his eyes. "Oh, boy."

-0-0-0-

Dunham and Hitchcock walked in, their shoes oddly loud. Soda nodded a greeting and brought them into the kitchen.

Darry stood, held out his hand. "Morning, Officer. Detective."

Hitchcock nodded grimly. "You'll want to sit down."

Soda watched Darry's face as it turned to stone, eyes glinting. His protective face. He'd worn that face when the nurses came out to tell them about Ponyboy two months ago.

Soda walked over to stand behind his older brother as he and the detective sat at the table. Dunham took his position beside the door, arms crossed. Ponyboy sat cross legged on the recliner, focusing too hard on his book.

Hitchcock reached into his pocket. "My men found this while we were sweeping the area. It was up away from the blood and in plain sight, so he obviously wanted you to find it." He slid a folded piece of paper across the table.

Darry stared at it for a moment. Soda could see the muscles in his shoulders bunching. He reached for the note, unfolded it. Soda caught a glimpse of small, elegant handwriting, similar to what he'd seen on old documents like the Constitution. It was too fancy for him to read.

"What does it say?" Soda whispered.

Darry was still for a moment. Eventually he cleared his throat. "To Mr. Darrel Shaynne Curtis, Junior," he read,

_I trust this will find you well. Physically, at least. God knows I'll never fight an injured man._

_However, since you're reading this, you must have been in the Randle household. You must be terribly disturbed. I myself admit I got a little carried away. Shame on me._

_But you needn't worry. Steven is fine. A little dizzy from loss of blood, but he's alive. _

_If I know you -- and I do, believe me -- you'll want him back safe and sound. I'm willing to strike a compromise: You for him._

_I'll be waiting at the old bridge at eleven o' clock tonight. Meet me there and I'll let Steven go. Fail to appear, and he will die. Of course, whether or not you show means little to me. I'll kill you anyway. _

_But can you live the rest of your life knowing you let Steven Randle die?_

_You have until eleven. Bring as many people as you want with you, if it makes you feel safer. I don't care how many die tonight, so long as you're one of them._

_I look forward to meeting face to face, Darrel._

_Yours,_

_Amandi Montresor._

Darry licked his lips, then set the letter back down.

Soda stared out the window. He was shaking again. Montresor was expecting them to choose between their friend and their family?

"I know it's shocking, Mr. Curtis," Hitchcock said, "But maybe we can help you with this. I'll station three of my men at the house as a precaution. Dunham and seven others will accompany you to the bridge to capture Montresor. If we --"

Suddenly Ponyboy leapt up, his book falling to the floor with a loud _thwack! _"That isn't good enough!"

They all turned to stare and he glared right back, fists clenching, eyes burning. Soda had never seen him so mad. He looked crazy.

"Detective, don't you see?" In two long strides he was standing just inside the kitchen, his fingers digging into the cheap couch's fabric. "Montresor will be expecting you guys to help us. It's what he wants!"

"What do you propose we do, then, Mr. Curtis?" Hitchcock stood, "Let your older brother go alone and wish him well?"

"No. I say we don't let him go at all."

Dunham straightened. "Do you want your friend to die, then?"

"No!"

"Then this is the only chance we have of saving them both."

"_No!"_

"No _what?"_

Fear began to pound against Soda's chest, aching to come screaming out. Pony was sweating now, angry that he couldn't find the right words. He took a deep breath. "It's all a game," he said slowly, "It's just a ploy to get us out there in the open."

"As I told your older brother," Hitchcock said, "we'll have police men at the house --"

Ponyboy punched the couch. "_Why can't you understand?!"_

Now Darry stood, extending a hand. "Ponyboy, calm down. Let's just --"

"NO!" And with that, he raced down the hall. Soda heard their bedroom door slam shut.

Darry sighed, turning back to Hitchcock. "He's . . . been through a lot lately. I think this is too much for him right now."

Hitchcock nodded grimly. "I understand."

Footsteps pounded up the porch steps, and the door flew open. "Hey, guys, Steve's --" Two-Bit started, then froze when he saw Dunham beside him. He regained his composure quickly. "How you doin'?"

"We know about Steve's house," Darry said patiently, "We're trying to figure out what to do."

"Oh. Why didn't y'all tell me sooner? Maybe I coulda helped."

"Sorry, buddy," Soda offered, "There wasn't much time."

Two-Bit slumped. "Now I feel useless."

"Why don't you go check on Ponyboy, then? He just ran into the room."

"Okay . . ." Two-Bit agreed, still mopey, and walked down the hall.

Hitchcock cleared his throat. "As I was saying, Mr. Curtis. When you go out to meet Montresor, we'll be in the woods. Wait until he lets Steve go, then we'll --"

"Surprise him," Darry finished.

"Right. It's not much, but it'll give you a moment to get out of there with Steve."

Soda bit his lip. "Is that really our only plan?"

Dunham shrugged. "For now. Do you have any better ideas?"

"Well --"

Suddenly Two-Bit came racing back into the living room, his eyes wide. "The kid's not there," he said.

"What?" Darry and Soda said together, racing down the hall and into the bedroom.

Ponyboy wasn't there. In the swamp of clothes and books on the floor, Soda saw that his backpack was missing. The window was wide open, and the wind blew rain onto the unmade bed.

Darry ran to the window and stuck his head outside. "Ponyboy!" he called, but the wind drowned out his voice.

The fear in Soda's chest was growing, nearly taking control. He fell to his knees, his vision blurring. _Not Ponyboy._

_Not again._

_Please, please, Not Ponyboy._

_Not again._

_Not again._

_Please._

_Please._

_Please . . ._

**Reviews boost my self esteem.**


	19. Chapter 19

**I'm horrible, I know. Two months since the last update. UGH. Hope you like this anyway.**

**This belongs to the almighty S E Hinton. Not moi.**

* * *

_Only the Curious . . ._

I almost laughed out loud at the irony of it all. The one time I'm using my head for something other than school, and no one is there to appreciate it.

I grabbed an old shirt, a flashlight, and Soda's extra switch and shoved them in my backpack. I slung the strap over my shoulder and glanced at the door. I felt bad for leaving Darry and Soda again. God knows what it'll look like to them. They'll probably think Montresor kidnapped me or something.

Who would guess I would go after him myself?

I bit my lip and turned to the window. No use in letting myself worry about all that. This had to be done. I jumped onto the bed and opened up the window.

Wind whistled in, making the curtains stretch and sway like ghost hands. I hoisted myself up onto the windowsill, said a silent goodbye, and dropped onto the lawn. I crept past the house, staying low to the ground so as not to bee seen through the windows. Once I got to the gate, I jumped over it and tore down the street.

Rain splattered on my face, and I wondered why no one else realized that what Montresor was up to was all a ploy. A game. Maybe it's because I read so much more than any of them. I knew how villains work. They never just hand you demands without keeping some secrets.

Montresor had something else in mind than just handing Steve over and killing Darry. I didn't know what, but it couldn't be so easy. It just couldn't be. Maybe he had already killed Steve and was going to give us a dead body. Maybe he wanted Darry to bring the cops and kill them all when he had them out in the open, so there'd be less people trying to arrest him.

Whatever it was, Montresor had an advantage. He thought he had the game won already. But there was no way he could have known I would try to do something.

_But then, I don't even know what I'm doing . . ._

Montresor said to meet him at the old bridge. He obviously meant Lincoln Bridge; it separated the black neighborhoods from the white ones. I had a ways to walk, and I was already soaked. The wind slammed into me from all sides.

I started to wonder if this was such a great idea, after all.

-0-0-0-

"Oh, god, oh, god, oh _shit_!" Darry jumped down from the window and onto a pile of dirty clothes. Wading out of the socks, he darted into his own bedroom and tore it apart, looking for his shoes and coat.

Soda still stared at the floor, too stunned over Pony's newest disappearance to be stunned over Darry cussing.

"Do you think he was, you know, kidnapped?" Two-Bit asked. His wide eyes were the only crack in his mask of cool.

"No," Darry called, "The windows only open from the inside. He left, that little --"

"Where would he have gone?" Hitchcock cut in.

"I don't know. To the park, maybe. He and Johnny always used to go there after a bad day. . ." Darry came hopping out of the room, trying to shove on his other shoe.

Soda let out a strangled sob. Pony had hardly mentioned Johnnycakes in the two months since the accident. How long would it be, now, until they saw each other again?

"We gotta go after him. Soda, get in the truck."

"I'm comin', too!" Two-Bit started for the door.

"Wait." Dunham put his hands on Darry's shoulders. "Calm down for a second. Are you sure he'd be at the park?"

"No, I'm not. But it's the only place I can think of."

"He wouldn't have gone out of town, gone to a friends house?"

"No, he --"

"The bridge," Soda whispered.

The others stared at him. "What?"

"Montresor said to meet him at the bridge. Pony was saying something about a game, that we didn't understand . . ." Soda sighed, running a hand down his face. "He's headed for Lincoln Bridge. He's gotta be."

Hitchcock frowned, but nodded. "Alright. Dunham, round up a few squad cars. He might lead us to Montresor."

Dunham nodded and ran out the door.

Darry offered his little brother a hand. "C'mon, Pepsi-Cola. We're gonna go find him."

-0-0-0-

By the time I got to the bridge, my teeth were chattering so hard I could hardly see straight. The storm had gotten worse pretty quickly. My sopping clothes clung to my skin and the gauze on my arm was stingingly cold.

No time to worry about being uncomfortable now, though. At home, they must have realized I was gone by now. They'll probably be here soon. I didn't have much time.

Lincoln Bridge was old, rotting, and small, built to cross a ten-foot ravine. You couldn't even drive a car over it. I walked to center and looked around. No signs of maniacal killers here, but that didn't mean he -- or more importantly, Steve -- wasn't here.

I started pacing, talking to myself. If I were Montresor, where would I be? _Think, think th--_

I stumbled over something. I looked at my feet and saw rope looped around the wooden boards. I glanced to my left. There was another rope loop about five feet from the first. Behind me, I saw another one, farther away from the others.

Hmm.

Carefully, I laid myself down at the edge of the bridge and scooted over until I could see under it.

"Oh, god. Steve!"

He was tied beneath the wood crucifix style, his dark hair hanging around his face in limp, greasy curls. His wrists and ankles were raw from the ropes, and a gash in his thigh turned the rain red.

I quickly righted myself, pulling off the backpack and getting Sodapop's switchblade. It flicked out easily, and I slid the blade beneath the rope loop that held Steve's ankles. There really wasn't an easy way to cut him down; no matter which one I picked first, he'd probably end up dislocating at least one arm. Oh well. Better than hanging here until eleven.

I got the first and second loops off and heard a groan beneath me. "Hold on, buddy," I said, lunging for the third.

It snapped off, and Steve fell with a splash into the mud. I shoved the switch back into the bag and slid off the bridge feet first.

Steve was shaking and breathing hard, struggling to his knees. I carefully helped him up. He swayed, leaning against the wall of the ravine. "What . . . What are you doing out here, kid?"

"Getting you out of here. Let's go."

"Where's Montresor?"

"Dunno. We probably don't have a lot of time."

He coughed. "You shouldn't be out here."

"Well, I am. C'mon, you gotta climb the ravine."

He looked at it warily. "I don't think I can."

"Okay." I turned and grabbed the rope that had fallen. They weren't very long, about two feet each. I started tying them together. "I'll see if I can pull you up."

"Kid . . ." he closed his eyes, panting. "You don't have to do this."

"Yeah, I do. You didn't see Soda's face."

He was quiet for a minute while I tied up the last rope. Then he whispered, so quietly I almost didn't hear him, "Thanks."

"Yeah," was all I said, knowing now was not the time to joke about how this would be the only time he'd ever thank me for anything.

Suddenly there was a loud thud from above. I jerked my head up to meet the gaze of two black, shriveled eyes, glaring at me from between the cracks in the bridge.

"Hello, Ponyboy," said Montresor.

**Reviews make my day much brighter.**


	20. Chapter 20

**To whatcoloristhesky: Do I get eternal love? Ha ha.**

**To anonymous GAH: Feel better soon!**

**Hey, real quick, I just wanted to recognize all my faithful reviewers. I've written a couple other stories on here (most of which suck; don't read them), and this is the first one that's broken a hundred reviews! You guys ROCK! So here's a quicker update for y'all. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: 'tis not mine.**

* * *

_Forget It . . ._

Steve had never felt more useless in his entire life.

Every nerve in his body was burning, screeching at him to move, to push Pony out of the way, to do _something_, but he could only stand and watch as Montresor, faster than what should have been possible, ripped up the boards of the bridge like a wild animal and hauled the kid up by his backpack. He could only watch as that monster leaned down and whispered something to Pony and, grinning, broke his leg like a twig. And he could only fall to his knees as Montresor took off with his best friend's kid brother, limp and screaming, into the storm.

The mud wrapped around him, cooling his burning cuts and gashes. He had no idea what would happen to Pony now. Maybe he could have run away before, but with a broken leg? He had no chance. Anything could happen.

_Stupid kid. Stupid, stupid Ponyboy . . . Why can't he ever use his head? _

Steve clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. Who was he kidding? He and Pony may never have gotten along very well, but there was one thing they had in common: Soda. Pony had rescued his big brother's best friend, and what had he done to repay him? Let him fall into the hands of a serial killer. Soda would never look at him the same way again.

The rain fell harder through the gaping, splintered hole in the bridge, drenching his face. He opened his mouth, desperately needing a drink. Oddly enough, some of the drops tasted salty.

-0-0-0-

"I can't see a damn thing out here," Darry grumbled.

No one bothered to make a snarky comment. The rain fell in rivers down the windshield, the wipers doing hardly any good. They'd been driving for fifteen minutes, ten miles over the speed limit. Two-Bit knew that on a clearer day, Darry would have gone at least twenty. Which irony for you; his parents had died in a car crash, but if it meant getting to Pony faster . . .

"There." Soda sat up, pointing. "There's the bridge. Stop the car."

Darry obeyed and all three got out. In two seconds they were soaked to the bone. Two-Bit ground his teeth. He hated getting wet.

He'd only ever been to the bridge one other time, about three years ago, when Dally had dragged him down to throw mud at squirrels and jump out at whoever was walking by. Two-Bit had been too drunk to feel bad about it at the time, but Dally enjoyed the hell out of it. Dall was like that.

He blinked. He hadn't thought of ol' Dallas in a while. At least, he tried not to.

"Ponyboy!" Darry hollered, bringing him back to the present, "Pony, where are you?"

"Pony!" Soda shouted.

Behind them, two cruisers pulled up. Hitchcock, Dunham, and two other officers came up.

"He won't hear you over the rain," Hitchcock said, "We'll need to search the woods."

"Hold up." Two-Bit held up a hand. He'd been staring at the bridge for a while, and he suddenly realized something wrong with it. He took a few steps forward, then started running.

The center of the bridge had been torn apart, leaving a gaping, splintered hole. Looking down, he thought he saw footprints.

"What in hell . . ." Darry breathed, staring at the mess.

Two-Bit shook his head, swore, and jumped down into the ravine. His feet sank into the mud. He swore again and looked around.

Curled up against the side of the ravine was a shivering, gasping blob, rain water washing blood and mud into the footprints he had seen before. Dark, stringy hair was plastered to a familiar face.

"Oh, Christ. Steve!" Two-Bit knelt beside him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. His teeth were chattering so hard his lips were bleeding.

"Steve?" Soda's voice. "Steve's here?"

"What happened, man?" Two-Bit asked as gently as he could.

"Is that . . . Is that s-s-s-Soda?" Steve rasped.

"Yeah, he's here. So's Darry and a couple cops. C'mon, let's get you outta here."

"The kid," he whispered, "He c-cut me l-l-loose. M-Mon --"

"Tell me in a minute." As carefully as he could, Two-Bit lifted his friend up into his arms. Steve winced. "Hey, Darry!" Two-Bit called, "Help me out here!"

Darrry was above them in an instant. "Oh, boy. Hand him up."

It took them a minute or two longer than they would have liked, with Steve trembling too hard to get a good grip on Dare's neck, but they managed it. Darry backed up, cradling Steve, so Two-Bit could climb out.

Soda came running, eyes wild. "Steve! Oh, gee, I --"

"I'm s-sorry," Steve breathed, "The kid . . . I-I couldn't . . ."

"Shh, it's okay, we'll --"

"What about the kid?" Dunham cut in.

Soda's eyes darted from the cop to his best friend. Darry closed his eyes. Two-Bit turned his face up to the rain. _Oh, god, here it comes._

"M-Montres-sor," Steve gasped, "The bridge . . . He g-got Pony. B-broke his l-l-leg . . ."

"Which way did he go?" One of the other officers asked.

Steve, grimacing, raised an arm to point across the bridge.

"Dammit," Dunham growled, "We can't get the cars down there. We'll have to follow on foot."

"We'll do our best to find your brother, Mr. Curtis," Hitchcock said, "You should get your friend to a hospital. I'll contact you as soon as we find anything."

Darry looked a little reluctant, but nodded. He turned toward the truck. "Two-Bit, you'll have to sit in the bed."

"That's fine." _This day just keeps getting better and better. _

-0-0-0-

I had no idea where I was.

Montresor carried me through the woods, running so fast everything turned to a green and brown blob. He kept one thick arm around my waist, my broken leg continually bouncing, hitting trees. I was trying hard not to give him the satisfaction of screaming, but it was so hard. Eventually I blacked out.

When I woke up my head was throbbing worse than my leg. Every raindrop sounded a hundred times louder than it should have. I groaned.

Carefully, I rolled over and looked around. I was in a small, wooden room, under a window through which rain and branches came in. A tiny plastic table and chairs set was in the far corner, a floral tea pot in the center. Two soggy teddy bears sat in the chairs, and the third was empty. In the other corner was an old wooden doll house, wet and rotting.

Through the haze in my mind, I wondered where the little girl was. I tried to sit up, but my leg gave a painful throb and I fell back down again. A rain drop fell in my eye.

Oh yeah. I was really using my head here. Darry was gonna kill me. Unless Montresor killed me first. Personally, I'd rather go with Darry.

They must have found Steve by now. He'd told them what happened, and the cops and Darry and Soda were on their way. I'd be okay. I'd be okay.

Jesus, I need a cigarette.

There were footsteps beneath me. My heart pounded and my eyes searched the room for the entrance.

Montresor appeared by my knee. "Comfortable?"

I realized I was shaking. "Where am I?"

"This was my daughter's tree house. I built it for her."

I blinked. I'd never thought that he'd have a family before. You just don't picture a serial killer with a wife and kids. But then, he couldn't have always been this way.

"What was her name?" I found myself saying.

He glanced at the empty chair in the corner. His eyes, before so full of hate, now were soft, distant, almost . . . _Loving_. As if he could see her drinking tea with her stuffed animals again.

"Lila," he murmured, "Her name was Lila."

I stared at the empty seat, too. Half of me wanted to know all about her, the other half wanted nothing more than to get out of this tree house and be back with my brothers.

Montresor slowly turned toward me. "Do you know," he said slowly, "what happened to her?"

Something in his eyes . . . I suddenly realized I didn't want to know, wanted to black out again and wake up next to Soda, safe and warm and dry.

"Your father killed her."

My breath caught. "No . . ."

"Yes. And do you know what he did afterward?"

My vision blurred with tears. _I don't want to know I don't want to know I don't want to know I don't -- _

"He _laughed_." He growled. I blinked away tears and saw him staring at me like I was something dirty. "And when your brothers come to save you, just like I did to save Lila, I'll laugh, too. I'll laugh so hard, I'll cry."

**Reviews greatly improve my day. **


End file.
